


Rogers Versus Rogers Versus School

by sara_holmes



Series: Puzzle Pieces [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Do not post to other sites, Family Fluff, First Day of School, Kid Fic, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23116357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: It's time for Arto to start school. It somehow goes as bad as Steve expected, and also better.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Puzzle Pieces [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/279279
Comments: 111
Kudos: 646





	Rogers Versus Rogers Versus School

**Author's Note:**

> How many years of Counterpart is this now? Don't know. Will I ever stop? No idea.
> 
> No beta, we die like men. Lots of typos, probably - I just had a baby and therefore no longer sleep.

The only person who manages to sleep the night before Arto’s first day at school is Steve. Not because he’s relaxed about the whole affair; more because he’s not slept for the whole week running up to the big day, so Tony hits him with what’s technically enough Ambien to kill a regular human and knocks him out for a few hours.

He wakes up at 4am with Arto kneeling on his spine, pulling at his ear and telling him to get up before they’re late. He attempts to roll Arto into a blanket burrito which has about a seventy percent success rate at getting him to fall back to sleep; however, Arto wriggles free with the ease of a greased weasel, pulling on Steve’s ankle in a futile attempt out to drag him out of bed. Steve gives in and staggers vertical, forlornly trying to remember the days when he used to get a solid eight hours.

Once he’s got a suitable amount of coffee in him he wakes up enough to realise that _oh holy hell it’s Arto’s first day at school._

He distracts Arto with Jurassic Park which is somehow still entertaining on its four hundredth viewing, and dozes until the rest of the tower wakes up. He leaves Tony wrangling with lucky charms and a seven year old who does not want to sit still at all, instead going to wake up Bucky and Clint. He finds them already awake, playing Halo and surrounded by empty packets of chips and cans of red bull. 

“What the hell are you two doing? You can’t have not slept, you’re meant to be shadowing Arto at school!”

He must sound sufficiently distressed because Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes or make a smartass comment, just gets up and starts directing. “Clint, go check comm channels and check there’s gas in the Beamer.”

“We checked that yesterday,” Clint says, frowning at the TV screen. 

“Check again,” Bucky says, firmly. “Go. Up you get, go.”

He shoos Clint from the room, turns expectantly to Steve. “So. Final chance to change your mind and let me take a weapon.”

“No weapons Buck, it’s a school.”

“But you want to keep him safe, right?”

Steve rubs his eyes. Ugh, they feel so gritty and awful. “Well that’s why I’m sending you.”

Bucky’s face does something weird and scrunchy and then he’s striding over to Steve and hugging him. Steve hugs him back, clinging on in a way he really hopes Bucky doesn’t mention. 

“You know I’d never let anything happen to him, right?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says into Bucky’s shoulder, but then, “What if he gets kidnapped again?”

“He won’t,” Bucky says. “Realistically, worst case scenario is he bites another kid or hides under a table and refuses to come out.”

“He still can’t read well enough-”

“That’s why he’s going to school. Steve. Calm down.”

Somehow, he does. Well, enough to head back up to the kitchen and paste a smile onto his face, bracing himself as Arto runs at him and leaps. He catches him just before he gets kneed in the balls, hefting him up onto his hip. 

“You come with me,” Arto says, pulling at Steve’s collar.

“I told you, parents don’t go to school, that’s just lame,” Tony calls, walking over to smack a kiss onto Arto’s cheek. “We stay here and tidy up the mess you made, ready for you to make a brand new mess when you get home.”

Arto grins, rubbing his palm against Tony’s beard. “You could come and wait in the car.”

“Pass,” Tony says. “Look, Bucky and Clint are taking you, just like we decided. You have to take Clint to school because he can’t read or do math. You’re his only hope, kiddo.”

And Arto is laughing and Tony is grinning and looking to Steve with a small nod, a reassuring hand resting on the small of his back. For one shining moment, Steve thinks that they’ve got this, that everything will be okay.

Then, after collecting shoes and bag and lunch and tucking Bucky Bear into bed to await Arto’s return, they walk down to the garage and Arto looks at Bucky’s brand new BMW and says, “no.”

They offer to swap cars. Arto says no. They offer to have Clint drive. Arto says no. Mindful of the time, they offer to let Tony take him in the Bugatti. Arto says no.

Steve and Tony both kneel down on the concrete in front of Arto. “What can we do to help?” Tony asks, setting his hands on Arto’s sides. “Give us a hint here.”

Arto shakes his head, bottom lip jutting out. Steve winces, knowing that that pout is 100% Rogers stubbornness. And he knows that maybe, just maybe, he gets most stubborn when he’s not feeling one hundred percent confident.

“Art, we know you’re scared-”

Arto rears back, mortally offended. “I am _not_.”

“Everyone is scared on their first day.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, so what’s the hold up?”

Arto scowls. He walks his fingers up over Tony’s arm, dancing around the edge of a soldering burn. “I’m going to school,” he insists.

Steve and Tony glance at each other, nonplussed. 

“We’re not stopping you?”

Arto looks around. “I want Steve to take me.”

“Okay. We can do that,” Tony says, sounding relieved. 

Arto pulls out of his hands and starts edging across the garage, looking from car to car. He hovers near Bucky’s car, though sensibly doesn’t reach out to touch. 

“You’re not driving my car,” Bucky calls loudly from behind them. 

“No,” Arto says. 

And then Steve promptly has what feels like an aneurysm because Arto turns around and points at his motorbike and says, "Please?" 

"No," Steve says. 

"No," Tony says. 

"It's not illegal?" Bucky offers and takes a step back as Steve rounds on him. "What, it's not. As long as he wears a helmet and he can reach the footpegs-"

Tony's mouth opens and closes a few times. He's actually speechless, which Steve would find funny if he wasn't also indignantly sputtering. "No," Tony repeats. "What's no in Russian? No."

"You want to get the kid to school or not?" Bucky says, folding his arms across his chest. 

"Absolutely not," Steve says and bends down to pick Arto up, tossing him over his shoulder. "You really thought I'd say yes to that? Come on."

"Ste-e-e-e-ve," Arto whines, but he doesn't put much effort into protesting. He slumps over Steve’s shoulder, feet half-heartedly kicking against Steve’s stomach. Steve carts him all the way back up to the communal lounge, dropping him onto the couch and then standing there, rubbing his hands over his face and wondering what to do next. 

“Get me Bucky Bear,” Arto says, stretching out a foot and pushing against Steve’s knee. 

“Get him yourself,” Steve says half-heartedly, reaching out and snagging Arto’s ankle. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t pick a car.”

“Motorbike,” Arto says, twisting around and looking for the TV remote. “Can I watch Jurassic Park?”

Steve presses his fingers against his eyes, unable to deny how tempted he is to just put the damn film again. It would be four hundred percent easier than battling with Arto - or Bucky - about appropriate methods of transport. And then if Arto doesn’t go to school, Steve doesn’t have to stress about being away from him-

“Hey Steve, I need you to come and sign some paperwork,” a voice calls from the top of the open stairwell, and Steve drops his hands to glare balefully at the bit of Clint he can see. He’s about to tell him to shove his paperwork, when he catches the way Clint is staring meaningfully at him. He acquiesces and goes over, following Clint down several steps so they’re out of tiny-spy hearing range. 

“Congratulations,” Clint says, leaning against the wall. “You just got outwitted by a seven year old.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “I’m not letting him on the-”

“He’s scared of going,” Clint says. 

Steve shakes his head and sits down heavily on one of the steps. His elbow is level with a felt pen scribble of S T E E V E E that really shouldn't be on the wall but no-one has the heart to get rid of. "I know he's nervous, but he wants to go. He woke me up at 4am to tell me he was ready to go."

"He wakes you up at 4am when he wants Nutella, that's not a decent piece of evidence," Clint snorts, sitting down next to Steve and sprawling back over the steps. “And he might have been excited at 4am, that's ages away from actually going. Why do you think he suddenly wants to go on the bike?”

It clicks into place. “Because he knew I’d refuse,” Steve says, mouth hanging open at Arto’s sheer audacity. He’s actually kind of impressed. “What, he didn’t want us to know he doesn’t really want to go so he picked the one goddamn option he knew I’d say no to?”

“Bingo bingo,” Clint says, complete with matching finger guns. “Now it’s _your_ fault he’s not going, instead of being because he’s scared. He’s not an idiot.”

“My child is an evil genius,” Steve says, shaking his head. Seeing as Arto isn't there to frown at, he frowns at the wobbly S on the wall instead. “Great.”

“He inherited more than just your face and super strength,” Clint agrees. “You know if you call him out on being scared he’s going to flip out.”

Steve opens his mouth in affront, ready to object to the fact that Clint just basically called him an evil genius, but priorities. “So what do I do? Call him out on it and talk it out, which will take-”

“Two to five business days?”

“Longer than we’ve got,” Steve goes with. “Or we bundle him into a car and hope he doesn’t put up too much of a fight…”

“Or?”

“I'm not taking him on the bike."

"Bucky had a helmet that'll fit him."

Steve blinks. "Excuse you?" 

"It's part of emergency evacuation plan F," Clint says with a shrug, like coming up with that many contingency plans is normal. Everyone knows you should come up with one decent plan, one decent backup plan, then if it doesn't work you wing it. 

"We have two evacuation plans for Arto," 

"And Bucky added four more, one involving a motorbike."

"Of course. Dare I ask about the other ones?" 

“No," Clint says, patting him on the shoulder and then suddenly sitting up. “Hey, I’ve got an idea.”

And before Steve can stop him, Clint’s scrambling to his feet, pulling his battered old I-phone out of his pocket and holding it up to his ear without even bothering to dial, wandering back into the lounge. Steve gets up automatically, distractedly wondering what happened to the days where he'd happily hide in the stairwell and let the others sort out Arto-related issues. 

"Yep, yep thanks Kurt, that's awesome," he says loudly and obviously. "Arto, my friend Kurt lives at your school - you know him, he's the blue guy, right? The one who can teleport? He says he can come to pick you up and take you straight to school, so we don't have to worry about cars or anything. He can take me and Steve at the same time as well, so we can all go together okay?" He returns the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I just asked him,” he says and then looks meaningfully at Arto. “Remember when you said teleporting was the coolest superpower? And you begged Steve to let you have a go and he said no? Well this time you’re allowed! Happy Tuesday!”

Arto slowly stands up on the couch, leaning over the back with his hands curled into the cushions. His eyes keep darting between Clint and Steve, then he opens his mouth and simply bursts into tears. 

"I want to go but I don't want to go-o-o," he sobs, bringing his hands up to cover his face. 

"And there it is," Clint says, pocketing his phone. "Tag, you're it."

He claps Steve on the shoulder and grins and one day Steve is going to strangle Clint Barton, though not today because his son is having an increasingly loud meltdown and he kind of needs to deal with that. So he settles for rolling his eyes and heading over to the couch, standing close enough so that Arto can slump dramatically into his chest.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, bringing his arms up to wrap around Arto’s skinny frame, pressing his mouth to the top of Arto’s head.

“It is _not_ ,” Arto tells him, shoving ineffectually at Steve’s stomach. “I want to go but I don’t so now I’m stuck.”

Steve exhales heavily. “Yeah, I get it-”

“No you _don’t._ ”

“Of course I do,” Steve says into blond hair that smells of organic pineapple shampoo - the only goddamn shampoo that Arto will tolerate at nearly thirty goddamn dollars a bottle, which Steve doesn’t need to remember right now because he’s stressed out enough as it is. “How do you think I feel every time I go on a mission? I want to go do my job but I don’t want to leave you. I know how being stuck feels.”

Arto just cries harder, but Steve feels two arms wind around his middle, clinging on tightly. Steve feels a surge of helpless frustration, because he can’t just go fix the problem, or punch the problem until it goes away. He can’t even make the decision _for_ Arto because Arto is a contrary creature at the best of times, let alone when he’s upset.

He takes a deep breath, presses his mouth back to Arto’s hair. “Let's do it a step at a time, huh? Thinking about school is big and scary, right? So let's just think about step one. I need you to do one tiny thing and go wash your face.” 

Arto lifts his face out of Steve’s shirt, looking distressed. "But then-” 

Steve presses his palm over Arto’s mouth. “Nope,” he says, and gently takes his hand away, rubbing his thumb over Arto’s cheekbone. “That's future Arto’s problem. All you have to do right now is go wash your face."

“Okay,” Arto says, through a shuddering breath, his chin wobbling violently. More tears slip down his cheeks and Steve's heart breaks a little; he knows Arto is genuinely distressed when the tears outweigh the noise he's making. Arto sniffs hard and then wipes his nose on his wrist. Steve manages to hide his grimace by the barest of margins. Arto coughs, looking miserable. "You do it."

Making Arto wash his own face seems like a battle that Steve doesn't need to entertain right now so he hefts Arto up and carries him over to the kitchen area, sitting him on the counter next to the sink. Arto watches as he turns the water on, reaching out to trace his fingertips over Steve's wrist. 

"Incoming," Steve says, dipping the corner of a towel into the warm water then dragging it over Arto's pink blotchy face. "Sit still."

"Am," Arto protests, then, "Green."

Steve smiles weakly. “Green,” he murmurs back, and looks over his shoulder as he hears approaching footsteps. It’s Tony, looking concerned and spinning his sunglasses around by the arm.

“So, have we decided about-”

“All we’re doing is washing our face,” Steve says over him, firm but not too loud. “Step one. That’s all we’re doing, one little thing.”

“Ahhh, I see,” Tony says, and presses himself right to Steve’s back, rubbing his beard against Steve’s shoulder. Steve can feel the rough prickles through his shirt, as well as Tony’s sunglasses digging into his spine. “Bigger issues are future-Arto’s problem?” Tony murmurs, probably only meaning for Steve to hear him.

“Future Arto has to go to school,” Arto says, reaching out towards Tony with his fingers spread. “I’m not in the future so I don’t have to.” 

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Tony says, pushing himself off of Steve so he can step in closer to Arto, catching his hand in one of his. “What has present Arto got to do now he’s washed his face?”

“Put his shoes back on,” Steve says. “That’s it. Just shoes.”

Arto nods and slithers off the counter, going to find his shoes. Steve watches him go, reaching out to lean on Tony’s shoulder. “I hope this works,” he says in an undertone.

“Fifty fifty at the moment,” Tony says. “I have faith in your manipulation skills. I mean your parenting skills.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “At this point, I think they’re pretty much the same thing.”

* * *

“Come with me,” Arto insists, tugging on Steve’s hand with both of his own, still making no move towards the car. The door is open. Bucky bear is already inside. His lunchbox is also inside, and filled with the sort of snacks he normally has rationed. Clint is in the passenger seat, twisted around and watching patiently through the open back door.

“I am,” Steve replies, equally as insistently. “Get in the car, then I’ll get in the other side.”

“You get in the car,” Arto replies stubbornly. “Then future Arto will be thinking about getting in the car.”

Bucky snorts with laughter as he walks behind them, pulling open the driver’s door. “He’s got you there,” he says. “Hey, Short Round, what music are we listening to?”

Arto ignores Bucky, pulling on Steve’s thumb and forefinger. “You first.”

Steve looks up over at Tony who just shrugs. With that astoundingly helpful response, Steve opts for capitulating, letting Arto pull him around the car to the other side, climbing in and belting up. He waits, on tenterhooks, and then Arto appears back around the other side, clambering into his booster seat.

“Atta boy,” Tony says, smiling as he leans in the doorway, watching as Arto buckles himself in. “You’re great.”

“Will you be here when I get back?” Arto asks anxiously.

“Yep,” Tony says. “I’ll be waiting right here. I won’t even move.”

Arto’s mouth curls in a smile. “Lies,” he says, then looks around and grabs Bucky Bear. “Bye.”

“And on that note,” Tony says, thumping his hand against the roof of the car and earning a dirty glare from Bucky. “Have fun, boys. Learn things. Behave.”

Steve smiles fondly as Tony slams the door shut, watching him step back away from the car. “He better not be telling me to behave,” Bucky remarks, putting the car in drive. “Alright, let’s go.”

Steve holds his breath, very aware that, for most people, trying to leave a garage doesn’t feel like a life or death situation. Clint has one eye screwed shut like he’s bracing for impact and it’s oddly reassuring for Steve to see he’s not alone in his doubt. The car takes the ramp, slides out into the morning sun and thankfully, all Arto does is reach out towards Steve, holding his hand tightly.

“School is good, right?”

“Are you kidding me? School is the best,” Steve says with a wan smile. “You get to learn things and make friends. Omari will be there, remember?”

“Yeah,” Arto says but he doesn’t sound convinced. He watches out of the window in silence as they head out, his usual chatter and questions absent. He’s not even kicking the back of Clint’s seat. Steve’s not sure if he’s grateful for the reprieve or not - he’s worried about Arto but not so much that he can’t appreciate a rare moment of peace. He decides that he’s not a maniac, so keeps quiet and guiltily enjoys the quiet all the way to the school.

Well. Half of him enjoys it. The other half spends the journey wondering what the hell he’s got in his parenting-extortion bank to use in order to convince Arto to get out of the car and actually go into the school. Fuck, he’s going to have to bribe him with a goddamn pet fish, isn’t he? And if he says yes then Tony will undoubtedly think less ‘bowl with goldfish’ and more ‘tank the size of a couch with a multitude of tropical creatures of some sort’ and honestly, the staff at the tower have to deal with enough without sharks and octopuses added to the list.

They pull up at the school, Bucky slowing the car to a crawl as they head up the drive. Steve’s phone buzzes with a text from Clint that simply says _‘brace yourself.’_ Out front, they can see a mini-welcoming committee: Storm is there, alongside Omari and another young student, both of them waving. Oh god, it's sweet, but really it just means they've got an audience for a meltdown. 

Arto looks at the school. He looks at Steve. He looks back at the school, then at Steve again. 

“Okay you can go now.”

Steve feels his jaw drop. “ _What?_ ”

“It’s _school_ ,” Arto says like Steve’s an idiot. “Dads don’t come to school.” 

He reaches for the door handle just as Bucky starts to laugh. Obviously Bucky underestimates Steve's willingness to kick him for mocking him, and also hasn’t thought about safety because the child-locks aren’t engaged, letting Arto shove the door open. 

“Arto!” Steve shouts, cursing before grabbing Arto’s lunchbox and hastily climbing out of the car. “Arto, wait!”

Arto does not. He runs around the car, grabs Clint by the hand and drags him across the driveway, waving frantically at Omari. Steve grinds to a halt, slumping against the side of the car and wondering what the hell just happened. 

“Just when I think we’ve got that kid worked out,” Bucky remarks, coming to stand next to Steve, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against sun-warmed metal. He slips his sunglasses on, using their cover to do a casual visual sweep of the grounds. 

“Tony would be calling him a skrull right now,” Steve says, watching Arto holding one of Omari’s hands. “Wow. This is exactly what we wanted, so why am I so annoyed?”

“Because he’s been running you round in circles since ass o’clock this morning?” Bucky offers. “Want me to take his lunch?"

“No I’ll do it, better say goodbye,” Steve says, pushing away from the car and walking across the drive. Arto meets him halfway, running at him with such speed that Steve wonders if he’s changed his mind again and is about to beg Steve to take him back again.

“Will you come back for me?” Arto says, winding his arms around Steve’s neck. "At hometime?" 

"Always," Steve says. "You sure you don't want me to stay?" 

Arto's composure slips a little, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He looks around again, gaze flicking from the building to Bucky to Clint, then back to Steve. "Hmmm, no," he finally says. "I'm brave. And you have a phone. And if I want you to come back you drive really fast anyway so you'll be here fast."

"I do not drive really fast," Steve protests. 

"Lies," Arto says and then presses a kiss to Steve's cheek. "You can go now."

Steve laughs and extricates himself from Arto's arms, handing over his lunchbox. "Okay, okay," he says. "Go on then, Omari's waiting for you."

Arto nods eagerly and then he's off again, sneakers crunching in the gravel as he sprints back towards Omari and Clint. Steve watches him go, stomach twisting with nerves and regret and relief all at once. 

"Green," he says quietly as Arto vanishes inside the building with one last wave, and then turns back towards the car, hoping Bucky will relax the 'Steve is not allowed behind the wheel of my car' rule so he can go home. 

* * *

After some wheedling and a blatant bribe - honestly Steve's life would be easier if it were only Arto he had to wrangle - Bucky relents and Steve returns to the tower alone, feeling like he's left a limb behind. Tony greets him in the lobby of the tower in a show of emotional astuteness that only Steve and Arto are ever really privy to. They have lunch and hang out in the workshop: Tony works on one of his multitude of projects and Steve occupies himself by trying to read Catch22 and texting Bucky constantly. Bucky, bless him, shows an unprecedented amount of patience and texts Steve back every time, reassuring him that Arto is fine, he hasn't bitten anyone or cried or broken anything, and therefore doesn't need rescuing. 

Then at three PM, Steve gets back in Bucky's car and tears his way up to the school, feeling oddly nervous, like he's five foot nothing and trying to blag his way into the US army all over again. He parks up and waits in the car, drumming his fingers on the wheel and resisting the urge to go in and bodily remove Arto from the building. Christ, what were they thinking, letting Arto go to school. He's not ready for school. What if it's not secure? What if someone has been mean to him, what if he's gotten upset and had a tantrum, what if he didn't eat his lunch, what if-

The front doors open, spilling children out into the late afternoon sun. Some head for the wide open space of the lawn, some go around the side of the building towards the gardens. Steve watches the flood become a trickle, growing more and more anxious with every unfamiliar figure that passes by. Then finally, after what feels like an age, Arto appears. He's not alone; he's being carried by Clint, clinging to him like a very blond and very enthusiastic backpack. He's laughing and swinging his lunchbox around with a fervour which means Clint is dangerously close to getting a concussion. Bucky follows right behind them, sunglasses and black outfit making him look every inch the bodyguard. 

Steve wants to burst with pride, and also maybe burst into tears because no matter how much they want Arto to grow more independent and confident, he doesn't think he's ever going to get used to Arto not needing him. 

He stays in the car, quietly watching. He's debating what to do when Arto looks over and spots him. The way his already-happy face lights up makes Steve forget all of his doubts and worries, Arto's clear delight making him feel like a million bucks. _Yeah_ , s _chool is pretty okay, but I'm better,_ he thinks, grinning back and climbing out of the car, heading over to collect his son. 

* * *

The night before Arto’s second day at school, a full week after the first, Steve is woken at 4am by a smaller version of himself wriggling into his bed, kneeing him in the thighs and hitting him in the chin with a teddy bear. Steve groans, wondering if it would make him a bad parent if he simply pushed Arto back out again.

“Steve,” Arto whispers. “Dad. It’s school soon.”

“Not yet,” Steve murmurs back. “Please go back to bed.”

Arto puts his head down on Steve’s pillow. “I’m in bed.”

“Your _own_ bed.”

“You know when it’s time to wake up for school?” Arto whispers, and Steve clings to that sentence like a lifeline because it sounds like Arto plans on going back to sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Can we go on the motorbike?”

Steve thinks back to the week before. Remembers the hours of wrangling, the tears, the tantrums. Remembers everything he’s learned about boundaries and not giving in every time Arto wants something.

Then he remembers what it was like before he was a parent and was allowed to sleep for a solid twelve hours. “If you let me go back to sleep,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “And you get ready without a fuss when it’s time, then yes. We will get there however you want.”

Arto makes an excited little chirping noise and promptly wiggles closer, sticking his head under Steve’s chin. Steve sighs, resigning himself to having an Arto shaped hot-water bottle for his last couple of hours. 

“Pushover,” Tony’s sleep-thick voice says from behind him, and all Steve can do is agree. 


End file.
